A Manual?
by The Wistful Bloom
Summary: When you're presented with something as unnerving and questionable as a huge wooden crate sitting in your kitchen, you'd have thought you'd be prepared for the contents. Turns out, these guys are as unpredictable as British weather.
1. An Unexpected Gentleman

**Hokay, guise. **

**I've been looking back at a load of old stuff, and needless to say, I almost cried I was that embarrassed.**

**So, this is one of the many stories which are going to be given a complete scrub, clean and revamp. **

**Mainly, my problem with this was my SI, and although she will remain a self-insert, she will be more like me, and not the same stupid sue as everyone else who swears at everything and is cocky and has comebacks to everything, but a complete immitation of myself- The antisocial pushover who avoids conflict and bruises way to easily.**

**So, if anyone is reading this now;**

**I'm sorry for writing such horrible sue-ishness the first time round, and for not giving my work a sense of realism and some reasonably fabricated plot.**

* * *

I hated it at Christmas.

Absolutely hated it.

It was about being jolly, having fun, and to be perfectly correct: It was a family affair.

"I'm home." I gave my usual holler to the empty house and set my worn checker-board backpack down in the hallway, crossing into the kitchen to grab a coffee sachet from the box on top of the microwave. I pushed my glasses back up the bridge of my nose to check the kettle was still full enough from my morning cup of tea and flicked the tab at the bottom: the rumble and gentle flow of steam satisfying enough.

Next I kicked off my sneakers, _which were never laced up, _and made my way back to my front door to check my mail, tugging the beaten rhinestone belt from my jeans as I went.

"Let's see..."

My hands fished through the envelopes, majority of which were white. I headed back into the kitchen, setting my belt across the back of a chair, and while thumbing through the letters I pulled myself out a seat.

Bank statements...

Bills...

Charity collections...

I saw a dark envelope next, a burgundy-red colour with a gold logo in the corner. I smiled at the familiar design and set my other letters aside.

_Miss Sharp,_

_Due to your interest in our stock, frequent purchases, and in light of the holiday season; we have enclosed a form for you to receive a set of new HETALIA UNITS. You will receive a free trial of UNITS, but any additions will have to be paid for, as well as returns after the trial period.  
Merry Christmas!_

_Marissa Holden (Store Manager) _

I left the letter on the table, ignoring the final rumble from the kettle before it gave another click, and I pulled a green sheet of paper from the same envelope, wrinkling my nose as I read "HETALIA UNIT TRIAL ORDER FORM" and wondering what on earth these 'units' actually were. Seeing the referral boxes on the form I lifted myself from my seat, taking a pen from the mug on top of the bread-bin. I ticked through most of the questions, until a multiple choice one left me tapping my pen against the table.

Of course, after reading the word 'Hetalia' I had felt my eyes practically light up like neon signs, but I had no idea who to choose... And, as I thought it through, my mind went off on a tangent. I didn't even know what these things were.

"Units"... What did that mean..?

Figurines..?

Dolls..?

Cardboard cut-outs..?

Shaking my head I ticked the five boxes I found appropriate, and after scribbling my contact details down at the bottom of the sheet I folded it and moved to place it on top of my piano for later posting. Turning back to the kettle, I sighed, rolling my shoulders, and with my mind still whirring with questions I finally made myself my coffee.

* * *

I hadn't slept well, but then again, I never did.

This had been the fourth night since I had received and posted the order form, and I had been careful to stick notes on the letterbox for any possible deliveries to be given to Susannah, the single mother of two who lived a few houses away from me. Not that this had helped my over-active mind, not by any degree.

With a soft groan I kicked the sheets off and rolled over; not expecting the morning greeting of laminate flooring.

"Ow_- Fuck."_

I sat up and rubbed my hip, reaching behind me to grab my glasses from my night-stand, picking myself a hair-band once I'd gotten up . After the pain subsided in my hip I stretched, yawning as if I hadn't slept at all, then pulled my hair into a messy pony-tail

I yawned again as I traipsed down the stairs, legs heavy and head even heavier. "Morning, mum." I managed to groan, pressing two fingers to my mouth and then the photograph of my mother blue-tacked to the kitchen wall.

The doorbell rang once and I took my keys from the hallway shelf, trying to prise the house key from the various assortment of other keys. The doorbell rang again and I found myself cursing as my fingers fumbled with the metal.

"Just a minute!" I made for the door and forced the key into the lock, turning it so messily that it took me a good while to finally open the door, and when I did the look on the deliveryman's face was as passive as you could get.

"Delivery for Miss Sharp?"

"Please tell me this is my first unit..?" He nodded and I felt a weight leave my shoulders. "Thank God. I've been worrying about this." He seemed to subside a small chuckle and passed me an electronic clipboard.

"Just sign here..." He pointed to a dotted line, and then one underneath it, "And here, too." I did as instructed when he spoke up again. "You'll regret ordering five of these, even if it is in instalments." He shook his head as he spoke, and I frowned.

"Don't I get them all at once? It's not that big a package, is it?" He was already nearing the back of his van as I asked this, and as I wiped my eyes and ruffled my hair, yawning again, he appeared from behind a crate; the box supported on wheels.

"I take back whatever I just said." I mumbled, having to lift my gaze to look at the top of it.

"Where'd you want it?"

I mumbled to myself again in thought, shifting from foot to foot, and I jerked a thumb behind myself. "Past the hall, in the kitchen."

He nodded, and I stepped out of the way, following him and simply watching. Once he'd left it in the middle of the kitchen, he handed me a manual and then wheeled his apparatus back outside. After following him back out, thanking him and shutting the door in his face as kindly as possible, I made my way back into the kitchen. Taking my place at the small table I flicked the manual open to the first page.

_ARTHUR KIRKLAND: User Guide And Manual_

_CONGRATULATIONS! You have just purchased your very own ARTHUR KIRKLAND unit! This manual was written in order to ensure that you, the owner, can unlock your unit's full potential as a guardian, boyfriend, and/or stripper._

The casual and carefree tone of the manual caused me to raise an eyebrow, and the word 'unit' still looked strange on the page. What on earth could need a box this big? I looked at the box, eyes flicking from the pages of the manual back to the looming mass of wood in front of me, and every second things made less and less sense.

Eyes scanning the instructions on removal of the 'unit', I wandered into the pantry, tearing my gaze from the book to pick up a cheap bottle of whiskey I'd most likely gotten from Susannah and never opened, and I tucked it under my arm, taking a hammer with cello-tape wrapped round the weathering handle from my plastic tub that acted as my tool-box.

I placed the whiskey on the table, as it was an extra measure I felt was necessary, and I held my hammer tightly; ready to make a mess of the awaiting crate.

I started things with stupidity (standing on my chair to reach the top) and hooking the end of the hammer under one of the nails in the top of the box. I tugged, fingers struggling around the poorly repaired handle, and I had the first nail out without much trouble. The rest took a fair bit of effort, but after a few minutes of struggling and growling under my breath, I had the top loose.

Taking the 'lid' from the box, I peered into it, only able to make out a bit of blonde hair between two blocks of moulded polystyrene, I hopped off of my chair and began to tackle one of the side pieces. Fingers slipping as I hacked away at the wood, the side of the crate beginning to pull away, I gave a fair bit of strength as I admired my handiwork afterwards. Setting it on the floor to the side of the box, I began to tug at the polystyrene, managing to take the half away without much of a struggle.

What was left in the other side of the box, however, made my eyes grow wide. This 'unit', whatever it actually was, looked incredibly lifelike, and I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. Referring back to the manual, I looked back at the lifelike Arthur staring blankly ahead of me, and I tapped his arm lightly, the bottle of whiskey back in my hands in seconds. His eyes fluttered open, and after going against my guesses for rigid, mechanical movements, he stepped away from his polystyrene and wooden home with human fluidity.

I held out the bottle, bottom lip between my teeth, and he looked at me for a harsh moment before he said in the most generic British accent possible, "Hello, I'm Arthur Kirkland- Or, the United Kingdom Of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Pleased to meet you."

"I know that..." I mumbled to myself, and after realising that he wasn't interested in the whiskey for the time being, I set it down behind myself and offered a hand, "I'm Enya- Just Enya. Pleased to meet you, too." And even as I said this as sincerely as I could, the fact that I was talking to someone that I was used to seeing in two-dimensional form in either manga books or rendered art was something I couldn't stop smiling about.

If this was a 'unit', then this was as far from my guesses and hopes as possible. And, as strange and exciting as this was, I still felt unnerved by the thought of something 'living' actually standing in front of me.

"Uhm... Cup of tea?" I asked, flicking on the kettle and then moving to the sink to take two mugs from the draining board. He nodded, eyes fluttering over his surroundings, and as I dried the cups with a tea-towel I felt my stomach growl.

"Oh, uh, do you want breakfast, too?"

He turned to me, his celadon shaded eyes fixed on me pointedly. "I wouldn't hope you'd let me cook?"

I shook my head, motioning to the toaster on the counter-top next to me. "Not at all. You won't burn toast, will you?" He seemed to light up at the prospect of cooking something, and he gave me a confirmative 'of course not', taking the loaf of bread from the bread-bin after I pointed him to it.

Setting the cups down and leaving them by the kettle, I sat myself back down at the table, leaving the box to be worried about later.

I adjusted my glasses, wrinkling my nose as they slid down again, and I flicked through the manual absently. There wasn't much to worry about, it seemed, although these 'units' functioned like real people, and as such they needed to be taken care of like one. Thumbing through the book, I heard the British accent call from the side of me, "Do you want anything else? Crumpets? A fry up?" I was about to answer, when a phrase of caution grabbed my eye.

_ARTHUR KIRKLAND fancies that he can actually cook. NEVER EAT ANYTHING HE MAKES YOU. He is impervious to his own terrible cooking, but you certainly are not; if you can, cook your food and don't let him into the kitchen, or he'll guilt-trip you into tasting his food._

He gave a small "Hmm? What was that?" At my small guttural whine, and after regaining my composure I waved a flippant hand at him, setting the manual down on the table.

"Uhm, no actually, Arthur... I think I'll... I'll make myself something, uh, later."


	2. Enter The Hero

**NEEEH.**

**Chapter two, also edited. Hopefully I can get this over with as quickly as possible, and still have it readable and much better than it once was.**

**Thankyou for bearing with me and this monstrosity when it first occured? **

* * *

A proper English gentleman seemed to be exactly what my house needed.

He could clean, (rather well, it seemed), and although he wasn't the best at cooking, he respected my privacy and wasn't exuberantly loud or annoying. Which made him, compared to my previous house-mates, a cut above the rest.

I knocked on the door to the spare room, opening it softly, and surprised to see Arthur already dressed. "Uhm... Did you sleep well?" I shuffled my feet anxiously: a conversationalist was something I most definitely was not.

"Rather well, thank-you." He seemed preoccupied, and I noticed he had a book in hand.

"Is that my-"

"Book on astrology? Yes, it is. One of the many, actually."

I coughed my response (a short and mumbled 'okay'), dragging my fingers through my fringe and letting it fall where it pleased.

"Right, well..." I turned, not really wanting to keep muttering to him and try and call it a conversation, "I'm going to go have a shower."

He nodded, I saw from over my shoulder, and I traipsed downstairs and past the back door, into the chilly bathroom. The end of the room had previously been a shed, and even with the alteration and help of a plug-in heater, it was still small and freezing. I locked the door, and shivering softly I paced over to the window opposite the shower and tugged the blinds up a little. There was a towel on the rail, so without much afterthought I undressed myself and stepped into the shower.

Turning the dial and expecting warm water, the chilling pellets of water that hit my skin caused me to fumble with the dial again; shivering more than ever. Keeping myself against the tiles, I turned the dial, sticking my hand under the shower-head to check the temperature. Now and again, the water would take a while to warm up, but I'd never found it stay cold for this long. Gritting my teeth and hauling myself out of the shower, I dried my arms and chest and took my dressing gown from the door.

When I got back into the kitchen, Arthur was busying himself with the kettle and a bowl of what appeared to be porridge, although with his cooking I could have been horribly mistaken. He raised an eyebrow at me. "You didn't waste any time. You weren't even five minutes."

"There's no hot water." He sensed my aggravation, it seemed, and he shrugged before returning back to his breakfast. It was a sluggish walk that took me back to my bedroom, and I barely checked what I was fishing from my drawers as I threw a pair of jeans and a t-shirt onto the bed and busied myself with my underwear and clasping my bra. Once dressed, (and less than impressed with the fact that my jeans felt two sizes too tight) I tied my hair up and made my way back downstairs. My laptop was sitting on the table, switched off but open, and I groaned softly as I remembered the dissertation I had to have ready by Friday- Which gave me three days to write God-knows how many pages.

"Do you have anywhere to go today? Classes? Work?" As I took my seat and switched on my laptop, I felt a small smile appear at his efforts to strike a conversation.

"Uhm, not really. It'd probably be a good idea to go shopping, but I don't have any classes so I don't really see the point in getting out of the house."

"Fair enough."

His short response made me feel as if the tables had suddenly turned, as if he was the grouchy university student who disliked too much social activity and I was...

Well... I couldn't have said anything about him, considering that we hadn't talked much, although that was probably mainly my part in things.

The doorbell rang once, then again, and I could just imagine the agitated look on the person's face.

The Briton looked at me, and I sighed, resigning from my seat. "That'll be our new addition."

Walking down the hallway, picking my keys from their hook on the my way past, the doorbell rang again. And again. And again. Jamming my keys into the lock and opening it with gritted teeth, I was surprised to see the same deliveryman from last Wednesday.

He handed me the clipboard and I looked at him apologetically, signing my name and watching him bite his lip and shuffle uncomfortably on his feet.

"Uh... Bad morning?" He scoffed, and I handed him back the clipboard, expecting him to take it back more aggressively than he did.

"You could say that." He replied, and he handed me the manual, which I tucked under my arm. As he turned back to the van I stepped out of the house and leant against the garden wall, watching him disappear into the back of his vehicle and appear again with the crate in tow. As he wheeled the crate towards the house he was muttering bitterly under his breath. "I'll have it in the kitchen, if you don't mind."

He nodded, and I followed him back into the house. Arthur was sipping at his tea, sat at the table and flicking through another of my astronomy textbooks, and the man barely registered his existence as he set the box down and wheeled the metal apparatus back outside. Following him again, I thanked him and wished him a good day, to which he scoffed again, and he waved as he turned his back, face solemn as he got into his van. Trying to piece his mood together, I shut the door, leaving my keys in it once I'd locked it, and I dazedly flicked the pages of the book in my hand, eyes trained forwards.

"What's this?" The blonde asked, jerking a finger in the direction of the crate, his eyes not leaving my book.

I looked at the manual, and my eyes rolled up as I sighed my reply, "It's Alfred."

He nodded, seemingly not interested, and turning in his chair he watched me as I took my hammer from the counter-top as threw him the manual. I leant against the counter-top, watching as he flicked through the book, and he spoke again, his eyes flicking over the pages, "Why the long face..? You ordered him, didn't you?"

My words were lost, for he actually had a point, and I chewed on my lip as I answered. "Uhm, yeah... I did but... It was only because none of the other units appealed to me... It was either Francis or Alfred so..."

The mention of the Frenchman seemed to clear up his question.

"Fair enough."

I shrugged absently as I began to take the nails from one of the sides of the box. "It was either a pervert or an idiot, it wasn't that much of a hard decision." After taking the side from the box, I blew my fringe from my face and turned to the Englishman, who had merely sat there and watched me.

"You going to help me any time soon?" He gave me a lazy smile and nodded, helping my heave the block of polystyrene out of the crate. Sitting in the other half was the American, who looked as well-crafted as Arthur was, his blue eyes staring blankly forwards from behind his glasses. "How are we supposed to wake him up?"

"It said something about speaking to him in a Russian or British accent." He shrugged, his eyes flickering over the American with a hint of caution.

I nodded and stepped back, nudging the Briton towards him. "Do the honours, then."

He seemed to decline for a moment, before he cleared his throat and addressed the American in the box. "Alfred?" He prodded the lifeless figure "A-Alfred? "

The unit didn't move, and I shrugged, eyes flicking over to the clock, arms folded. "Perhaps he's faulty, we'll just send him ba-" No sooner had I spoken, one of my hands were in one of his and he was shaking it with clumsy enthusiasm.

"Alfred F. Jones, United States Of America, and the hero!" His smile was absolutely blinding, and I winced at how loud his voice was, and how firm his handshake was.

"H-Hi, Alfred. I'm Enya." I tried to wrangle my hand from his grip, and he let go after being collared by Arthur.

"Don't be such an annoying sod. You're much too loud." Alfred's eyes went wide, and he turned to face the Briton after he'd let go of his collar.

"Iggy! Long time no see!" He hugged the blonde, Arthur groaning at his enthusiastic grapple. "So, like, you totally have cola here, don't you? And cartoons and fries and stuff and-"

"We have TV. I only drink diet coke, though, and the cupboards are pretty bare, actually. And if you could, would you mind turning down the volume?" He looked a little lost at my words, and his smile was replaced with a confused frown. "Uh, I mean, can you just keep your voice down- Like, at all times?" He nodded slowly, taking in his surroundings and quietly pacing around the kitchen.

I sighed, relaxing against the counter-top and smiling at his childish approach to things. I watched him as he poked various things and seemed to address everything with adapt curiosity.

Perhaps he wasn't going to be as bad as I'd first thought.


	3. Family Affairs

**Uh, hi again, guys.**

**These are getting increasingly shorter, I've realised, but I'd rather give you quality than quantity. (which appears to be a flaw in most of my writing, as I set my standard at a set number of pages from chapter 1 of a story, and feel the need to match it each time.)**

**Anywho, I plan to have most of this finished within the next couple of days... hopefully... possibly... maybe...**

**never.**

* * *

Now, Arthur, I could easily live with. He was completely self sufficient, quiet, and rather pleasant to be around.

Alfred, on the other hand...

"Alfred! _Please, _for the last it down!" There was a reply, drowned out by the noisy voice-over on a kid's show, and I sighed as I tried to type again. This dissertation wasn't going to finish itself, after-all.

Sipping from a cup of tea and calmly embroidering as he sat across from me at the table, Arthur seemed as annoyed with Alfred as I was.

There was a pause, which caused a frown to grace my features, and Arthur shared my hesitation. After a good minute or so of silence from the living room, fear and curiosity got the better of me, and I got up from my place at the table to check up on him.

In the living room, Alfred was knelt by the television, fingers haphazardly pressing different buttons as he whispered to himself. "Problem in here, Alfred?" He froze up, turning slowly, and smiling as innocently as possible at me, he got up. "Ah, Aha..." He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling, "It's... uh, not what it looks like?"

I sighed, head in my hands within seconds. "How the hell did you manage that?" I looked up from my hands to see him fumbling with wires in the back.

"I have no idea, dude, it just..." He let go of the wires, rubbing the back of his neck again, and he turned to me again, minus his smile. "S-Sorry." Appearing in the doorway, cup of tea in hand, Arthur gazed at the two of us.

"Dare I ask what you've gone and done now, Alfred?"

I bit my lip, rolling my shoulders back and releasing a harsh breath.

Arthur sensed my distress and he amended his question with a gentle, "How about you tell me later?"

I sighed, hands covering my face again. "I'm not going to be able to pay for that for weeks." About to go back to the kitchen, the doorbell rang, and trying to regain what was left of my composure I opened the door.

"Hi, Enya."

"Oh, Susannah: what is it?" The noirette pursed her lips, as if she'd forgotten why she was standing in front of my door at four in the afternoon on a Thursday, dressed to the nines and heavily made up. "Yeah, well... I have a date and all... Could you watch Tyler for me? Jessie went to a friend's house for the day." As she said this the small boy peered from behind his mother's legs, clearly more introverted than his mother ever had been.

"O-Oh, well-" She didn't wait for an answer, and she pushed him towards me gently.

"Great! I'll be back later to pick him up! He's already had something to eat, so you don't have to worry much, m'kay?" She beamed at me and gave her son a small wave. I reached out a hesitant hand in declination. "B-But, Susannah, wai-" By the time I'd managed to stutter out half of my response, she was down the road, fixing her hair as she went.

I turned, the small boy watching me closely, and Alfred peered down the hall, his head emerging from the door-frame of the living room. At seeing this, the small boy stepped towards the American, his head tilted up in avid curiosity. And, seeing Alfred practically light up and begin to guide the dark-haired boy into the living room, I mouthed a small 'thank-you' and teetered into the kitchen.

Disbelieving my warped luck, the moment I sat down the sudden alarm of music from the front room made a smile grace my features. Arthur looked up from his embroidery at the noise, too, then at me.

"Guess that's one less thing to worry about..." I mumbled, and I set to writing my dissertation, thankful that I had nothing left to stop me from finishing it on time.

* * *

"Oh, I'll have a coffee, please." Arthur looked into the pot I'd labelled 'coffee' (with a bit of paper, cello-tape and a marker pen) and he turned back to me while shaking his head, setting the pot down again.

"All out. Tea, perhaps?"

I shrugged, checking over my dissertation again, glad to have finally finished it. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

He smiled, and while he busied himself with making us drinks I crept into the living room. Somewhat more worn than he had been a few hours previous, Alfred was slumped on the couch, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his breathing heavy. As I observed the living room, I almost clapped my hands together in prayer that nothing was damaged. Well, excluding Alfred, it seemed.

I took his glasses, peering over him and brushing the hair from his eyes, and noticing how much like my mother I was acting I quickly snapped my hands away and left his glasses on the shelf for him. Sighing, and realising I was much more tired than I thought, I turned back into the kitchen, intent on shutting down my computer and getting much needed sleep.

Arthur turned to me, cup of tea in hand, and he handed it to me as I suppressed a yawn.

"_Someone _needs to stop staying up all night on video games..."

I scoffed as he looked me over sternly. "Give over. You sound like my dad or something."

He shrugged, unfazed by my comment, and as I gave up waiting for my laptop to respond and merely pressed the power button I turned back to him.

"And that, is a very, _very_ bad thing." I closed my laptop, ruffling my hair and dragging my fingers through my fringe, and taking a sip from my cup of tea I muttered a weak 'thank-you' before yawning again and wishing him a good night.

He nodded once, repeating my words, and I shuffled up the stairs, sipping from my drink as I climbed. Once in my room, I set my tea down on my bedside table, crossing the room to close my curtains and then returned to my drink again. Yawning again, I barely managed to peel off my jeans, untie my hair and duck under the covers before my eyes became heavy and I succumbed to sleep. And, these silent moments that would have once been daunting, they soon became the moments I appreciated.

Because there was no chance in hell that I'd ever have even a smidgen of peace and quiet again.


	4. Welcome, Comrade

**Man oh man.**

**SI was such a bitch in this chapter. And the entire russia/america thing needed re-writing because it was awful. ;w; **

**Anywho. I'm happier with the results, but surprised that I didn't pick up on these mistakes earlier. Because I know I don't deserve any of those reviews I got for the original version. :C guess I needed to grow up a little before I could learn from my mistakes?**

**AND AWMYGAWD- SOME SORT OF BACKSTORY MAKES AN APPEARACE. .**

* * *

"So..." Arthur was once again trying to strike something resemblant of a conversation, cup of tea in hand and fingers tapping against the counter-top. I disregarded the American sitting across from me, pushing my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and dropping my pencil, turning to Arthur.

"_So..._What?"

"Hmm?" He looked at me lazily, sipping from his tea, his tone of voice suddenly cynical and bitter. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I just assumed that we could engage in a decent conversation for once."

I bit my lip, turning back to my drawing, and my eyes flickered over the American now and again, just so I could pick out the odd detail of his face to refine.

"What about you, Alfred? You're never this quiet." The American continued to stare ahead: his gaze fixed on the wall behind me, and Arthur sighed into his mug.

"I mean, bloody hell, is everyone _constantly_ ignoring me?" Trying his best not to move his lips, Alfred spoke up.

"I'm not, Iggy, honest I'm not. I just don't want to move 'cause she's drawing me." I blew my fringe from my eyes, adding a small amount of shade to the side of his face, and I looked up at him again. "You know, I didn't say you had to stay still. You can move, Alfred..." He relaxed, and at this I slumped over in my chair again and let my chin rest on an elbow-propped hand.

"What about you then, hmm?" Arthur obviously wasn't content enough with the current offerings, and I dropped my pencil again, getting up and flicking the kettle on.

"What about me?" I scrabbled for a mug, not really wanting to draw attention to myself, but agitated all the same.

"Well..." Arthur began as I set my mug down, watching me shovel one sugar too many (and the rest) into my mug, "You just don't seem like you want to talk to, oh, let's say... _anyone._"

I scoffed, flicking a teabag into my mug as well, and I span around so my back was to the counter-top, arms folded and biting my lip. "It's a personal preference." Arthur raised an eyebrow, and I mimicked him, not giving away too much of my anxious disposition. The American was the one to break the creeping aura, as if he was blatant to it all.

"Hey, this is really, really good." He tilted his head as he looked at my drawing, then set it back down. Arthur seemed to forget the small conflict we had begun, and walked over to the table to see for himself. "Are you studying art?"

I shifted, movements uncomfortable and my thoughts irritably scattered.

"I don't mean to..." He took a moment to find the right word, "Pry._.. _It's just that you never talk about anything to us. I just assumed..."

I shook my head, and he nodded in accordance, looking back down at the sketch again.

"I would have _loved_ to have taken art... it's just... my mother..."

Alfred looked at me, his gaze soft and his words equally so, "She didn't let you?" I shook my head again, feeling my eyes blur with tears, and I sighed bitterly.

"No... it's not that at all..." Trying to calm myself, I wiped my eyes, although I'd assured myself that I was over this years ago.

Was three years such a long time?

"Hey, are you okay?"

I nodded, brushing past them both and into the hallway, my words stuttered and flimsy. "I-I'm... I'm fi-fine." I wiped my eyes and fixed my hair, sniffling once or twice. I was all but ready to run upstairs and back to sleep, knowing that I'd said too much, and knowing that there'd be questions asked in the inevitable future.

_Knock._

_Knock Knock. _

I turned my head towards the door, taking my keys from the rack as I passed them, glad for further distraction.

_Knock Knock._

I opened the door before he could rap his knuckles against it again, and a young man wearing a tired expression handed me the electronic device and pen to sign. He was blonde, and I noticed on further examination that he had a multitude of piercings; majority of which in his ears. The blatant freedom he had was something I envied, as my mother had never allowed me to pierce anything other than my ears, and that had been when I was six years old. I'd never been allowed to 'deface' my body, as she had told me every-time I whined to her.

I handed him back the clipboard, and he didn't speak a word to me as he unloaded my crate and wheeled it up to my front door.

I didn't mind too much, I wasn't much of a conversationalist myself.

"Where'd you want it?" As he spoke I noticed he had pierced his tongue, too, and wondering to myself how much it may have hurt I jerked a thumb in the general direction of the kitchen.

"In there, thanks."

He nodded and wheeled my unit into the kitchen, which caused a few words to be exchanged between the Briton and American I'd left in there. I didn't follow the pierced delivery-man into the kitchen, a little too much beside myself to want to talk. He wheeled his apparatus back out of the house, and he disappeared into the van again, reappearing with a manual in hand. He jogged back to the house, handing me the manual, and without a single word he nodded his thanks and I shut the door gently.

I wiped my eyes again, not really surprised that they felt irritated and sore, and I made my way into the kitchen, thumbing through the manual absently.

I had disregarded the front page, and now flicking through the pages, I tried to find a name.

_Removal of your IVAN BRAGINSKI Unit from Packaging._

I eyed the box with uncertainty, my eyes then trailing down to check the available options. As much as I wanted to send the box back, what, with my dislike for tall men with thick accents growing ever since I had known my father; I decided that Ivan deserved a chance. Because, as much as I wouldn't admit it, I was actually starting to feel as if I had a family again.

They'd started to... grow on me...

"Alfred?" He looked away from the box, his glassy blue eyes regarding my tired eyes with caution. "Could you get the hammer, from the pantry?"

He nodded, and I looked at the looming mass of wood again, as the Briton appeared from behind it. "So, what exactly do you propose we do with all of this wood? There's been three crates now, you can't exactly let it pile up."

I shrugged, thinking about it for a moment, hearing Alfred clattering about in the pantry. "There's a guy across the road who fancies his hand at D.I.Y... He'd probably be happy to take it off of our hands..."

Arthur seemed to accept my suggestion, and I left my manual on the table, making my way into the pantry to help Alfred. He was fumbling about with different boxes, and calmly taking the hammer from the shelf (where it blatantly sat) I waved it in front of the blonde.

"Looking for this?" He laughed, a singular chuckle that he bit down, and we both exited the pantry to face the wooden and polystyrene mass in my kitchen. I began to rip the nails from one side panel, Alfred and Arthur helping to pull the wood away once I'd gotten the nails out. After a collective team effort, we had the side off, and the half of polystyrene also out of the box.

The tall Russian was staring blankly ahead, and not one to want any fights to break out, I chose the only remotely safe option. The pronunciation stalled me, and after mulling over the Russian word in my head, I tried to come across as infinitely scary. "Брат!"

He shuddered in his box, and as he made his way out of it, his rhodopsin eyes were flickering all around him, he even turned his head to check every possible spot. Without any further catcalls, or the usual following hiss of 'marry me- marry me- marry me' he seemed at ease, if only a little. He glanced at me, (more like _down _at me, judging from his height), and he offered a hand. "Ivan Braginski. Or the Rossiyskaya Federatsiya. Natalya is not here, да?"

I shook his gestured hand, and I shook my head, which put him at ease. "Sorry, we were just trying to wake you up." He smiled at me, which actually befitted him rather innocently, and he took in his surroundings. Arthur flicked a hand up in greeting, looking rather uncomfortable, and Alfred was simply glaring.

The Russian noted the angry blonde to the side of him, and he smiled even more broadly. "Alfred, comrade!"

"Stay the hell away from me." He glared, and Ivan dropped his kindly demeanour, looking equally as angry.

"You don't look happy to see me, Alfred..."

The American scoffed, which I found incredibly ill placed, as well as his sudden attitude, and I looked helplessly to Arthur as they continued to glare. "Likewise, commie."

"Look, chaps-" I grabbed the Briton's arm, whispering to him and dragging him out of the room slowly, as to drain any possible attention.

"_Don't get involved, it'll just make things worse._" He nodded, and the moment Ivan looked ready to raise his fist we both sprinted up the stairs and into the first room we found.

"Do you really think that locking yourself away in your bedroom will help matters?" I chewed on my lip, bolting the door, and I dragged myself under my covers. As thoughts came flooding into my head I shook myself away from them, curled up so tightly I could barely breathe. As I did this I heard the Briton tut.

"Because hiding under there is _definitely_ going to make difference..."


	5. Breakages

**UR.**

**This was just. /shrug**

**Uhm. The whole vindictive!Arthur thing and OH WELL EVERYONE'S BEING EVIL BUT WE DON'T CARE AND GHUSGIUHS.**

**All I have to say. Okay. **

* * *

"They're down there probably ripping each other to shreds, and the best you can do is cower under there?"

I'd overreacted, sure, but there wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to run downstairs and try to separate them. There was a tut, and then a shift in the mattress. I bit my lip, and slowly, I brought my head out from under the covers. Arthur offered me a sidelong glance, (well, more of a reprimanding stare), and feeling like the stupid little girl who had done this a thousand times before I brought myself from under the covers and straightened out the duvet.

My hands brushed through my hair, and flattening my t-shirt I saw the all-too incredulous stare that the Briton had plastered over his face.

"You wouldn't understand." I mumbled, biting my lip again.

"I can try to." His voice was serious, his eyes level, and I turned my head away from him: I wasn't going to stir up any dead and buried memories. There was a small clatter from downstairs, and we both turned to the noise.

"Look, I'm sure they're not causing... _too_ much damage... Can't we just-"

I was already by the door handle, and I heard another sigh as I deliberated whether or not I could bring myself to face them.

"You're a selfish person, you know that?"

I turned, eyeing him carefully. Yet, I didn't respond. I didn't have a retort for that, nor would I ever. Didn't stop me from trying, though.

"Can you stop being so bloody paternal, Arthur?" He just looked at me, calculated as ever, and sighed again.

"I'm just trying to help you. You seem... withdrawn. All the time. It's not healthy."

I'd had enough of this, I wasn't one to confront my inner 'demons', or whatever they wanted to be called, and I dazedly opened the door and started down the stairs. And, as much as I want to blame my rambling mind, it was most likely my terrible posture and carriage that was to blame for me tumbling down the rest of the stairs.

* * *

"It could've been worse."

I wasn't in the mood to talk, let alone with Arthur. I held the make-shift icepack to my leg, wincing and holding back a breath.

Alfred looked rather solemn, and he opened his mouth, most likely to apologise... _Again_.

"Hey, I'm sor-"

"Button it." I seethed again as I pressed the icepack (which was really just a bunch of ice-cubes wrapped up in a dishcloth) to my leg, and feeling dizzy I closed my eyes and leant back against the couch. "If it weren't for you two I'd never have done it."

Ivan piped up from his place on the opposite couch, his rhodopsin eyes playful. "Why did you run?"

Arthur was leant against the wall, to the left of me, and he sipped from a cup of tea as he surveyed my weary composure. I looked at them, my head still dropped against the couch, and I rubbed my forehead as I answered the Russian. "Do you _really_ expect me to step in between two angry representations of global superpowers and their grudges?"

Alfred looked considerate for a moment, his eyes lit with thought, yet before he could respond I'd cut him off again. "The answer is 'no', Alfred." He looked somewhat withdrawn as he nodded and sank into his 'seat' on the floor.

I bit my lip again; I was agitated, and it was showing.

I looked back to Arthur, still leant against the wall, cup in his hands.

"Is there any paracetamol in the cupboard?" He raised an eyebrow. "My leg's bloody killing me and I can feel a headache coming on." He seemed to let a smile sidle from his lips, and he took another sip of his tea, smirking all the same.

"That'd explain it then." When I gave him a look of utter confusion, he chuckled into his mug. "The attitude you've gained from your little... '_tumble_'."

I bit my lip again, groaning and pressing the ice-pack harder against my leg. "I'm sorry. Look, can I _please_ have some paracetamol?" Arthur looked at me again, and as I seethed again he muttered something shortly and left the room.

I heaved myself up, sitting with my leg stretched out at an odd angle. Alfred looked ready to get up and help me when I struggled to my feet, but I shook my head, forcing a smile. "Sorry, guys. I think I need an early night." Even though the fact that it was only four in the afternoon could have been argued, both of them merely nodded in accordance.

I stumbled out of the door and up the stairs to the left, stopping a few steps down as I waited for Arthur. He appeared a few seconds later, two capsules in his palm, and taking them from him I gave him a weak thanks and swallowed them as I limped up the stairs. I managed it to my bedside table, pulling my glasses off and setting them down, and after pulling my hair from its band I flopped into bed.

There were muffled words from downstairs, but as my eyes slid closed and drowsiness fell over me, I couldn't care less.

* * *

"_Heeey, about that lecture we just-"_

"Please don't ask me for notes, Robyn." The girl on the other end of the telephone line whined, and I jerked my attention to the road before me: papers tucked under my arm. I prodded the button at the crossing and awaited a response from my classmate.

"_Uhm... Well, say, just this once, could you-" _Before she'd even finished I'd cut her off again, checking the road as I spoke.

"Look, Robyn. I can't just give you my notes to copy out every time. And you _always_ say 'just this once'."

The girl sighed, and I could picture her running her hands through her hair as she tried to think of a better plea. The crossing beeped, and holding my papers tighter I made my way across, dully trying to remember if I'd left the door unlocked before I'd left this morning.

The redhead on the other end of the line seemed to give up, and a small mutter that sounded something like 'I'll just ask Fawn, then' was all I could make out.

"_Uhm, okay. I'll research it myself. Sorry. Uh, bye, then._"

I shook my head, a smile flickering at my lips, and I took the next few streets with a clear head; phone pocketed and papers firmly under my arm. The rest of the journey home went without much more interruption, and as I swung the gate open with my free hand and delved into my pocket for my keys, it struck me to try the door first.

It was open.

Thankful that the house seemed pretty much intact, I kicked my shoes off in the hallway, the cold winter air slamming the door for me. I wrinkled my nose as I shrugged my back from my back and slung it over one of the dining chairs in the kitchen, my papers dumped on the table and scarf thrown next to them.

The house was, for once, incredibly silent. And that was what scared me the most. It was worse to face an empty house than to hear them bicker and argue amongst themselves, which was something I thought I'd never come to fear.

The silence was always my company, but now it seemed I needed a change. It wasn't actually all that bad, in fact- Sharing the house.

I tugged my coat off, pacing over to the counter-top to flick on the kettle, and it took a minimum of ten seconds before there were drowsy shouts from upstairs. I left my coat draped across the same chair that held my bag, and I peered my head around the door-frame to see the stairs around to the right.

There were more shouts, some of them louder than the first, and barely a few seconds later the shouts became mangled with thumps and crashes.

Anything I'd thought about their company not being all that bad?

_I take every single word back. Every. Single. One._


	6. Mein Gott

**WOO. OKAY. THIS IS NOW ALSO DONE. **

**ENDING IS KINDA CRAPPY. FORGIVE ME. IT'S MONDAY AND I DON'T GIVE A FRENCH-CONNECTION-UNITED-KINGDOM (fcuk/fuck. in other words, kids.)**

**Okay. So, yeeeah. More plausiable, I hope? whatevs. At least I've got one less thing to edit. **

* * *

"I told you I was at the library. They tend to have books there, Alfred." I set down the stack of textbooks on the kitchen table, and the American seemed to lose any retort. He struggled for a moment, before shaking a finger at me.

"But, uhm, that much reading is probably unhealthy!"

I tutted at him and slung my bag over the back of the chair. "Yeah, just like fast food."

The blonde seemed somewhat withdrawn, less uppity, and I found myself apologising. "Sorry, sorry, Alfred. I'm just a little pissy and-" I sighed, and raking my fingers through my fringe I looked at the looming crate in front of me, eyes scanning for the manual momentarily. "Where's my hammer? And Arthur, too. I feel he should be making sarcastic, observant comments right now."

The American mumbled something completely incoherent from the depths of the pantry, and when he emerged (hammer in hand) I asked him what on earth he'd been talking about.

"I... I said embroidery. He's doing embroidery."

He seemed withdrawn again, which was obvious from the small, whiny voice. It wasn't like him at all.

I accepted my hammer, turning from him to face the box. "I take it you two fell out again?" He gave a small nod, and I went to for the nails near the top of the box; muttering in frustration when I couldn't reach, and realising that Ivan was almost missing, I returned to quizzing the American.

"Where's Ivan?"

I pulled a chair towards the box, and Alfred shrugged, the pair of jeans I'd found for him rather befitting.

"Outside, I think. The snow sends him crazy."

I gave a small chuckle, the chair wobbling underneath me as I tugged at the nails holding the crate together. "What, there's like, an inch out there? Ah, well. As long as he doesn't scare the neighbours. Oh-" I turned to him, watching as he fiddled with his glasses. "How 're those jeans holding up?"

He gave a little 'hmm?' that I checked over as I set back to tugging nails from the crate, and he replied a few seconds later, rather dazedly. "Oh, they're... uh, cool, yeah... cool."

I raised an eyebrow, hopping from my chair to tackle the lower half of the crate's side.

"No, I mean... Yeah..."

"D'you want to go sit down? You seem a little..." He rubbed the back of his neck, giving a small chuckle.

"Ah, no I'm fine. It's just..." He paused, and after a brief moment he said, "Nothing. It's nothing at all."

I shrugged, almost clawing at the nails as they clunked to the floor, the last one taking an extra spur of energy as I finally got the side free and set it to the side with little difficulty. "You fancy helping me with this polystyrene..?" He nodded simply. I decided that I didn't like this 'version' of Alfred at all. And, although I'd probably regret saying it later: I liked him better when he was on a constant high and sang theme-tunes from shows I'd never heard of.

We tugged the block out without much trouble, and after setting it down I turned to face the next threat to my livelihood.

My eyes almost immediately narrowed. "Hell no. We're sending it back." I was never the type to turn people away, heck, I wasn't brought up to do that. But, when you see a practically living representation of a country looking comfortable in his wooden crate, silver hair and all, you wouldn't expect to be the most welcoming person in the world.

The door slammed, making both me and the American jolt in surprise, and the tall, snowed-on form of Ivan wheeled into the doorway. "Ah, you're back!" He brushed the show from his shoulders, flicking it from his hair, and my attention was turned to small tremors shaking the floor.

"What the..." Looking back at the box, I saw that the Prussia unit was trembling in his polystyrene and wood home. "He better be easy to deactivate..."

Then the thought struck me.

I turned to Alfred, eyes searching the table behind him as I did so. "Where's the manual?"

He looked dazed again. "Alfred."

He jumped to life.

"Ah- What? Sorry."

I squinted at him, scrutinising every last detail. "What's gotten into you today?"

He mumbled to himself before actually noticing that I'd asked him a question. "Huh?"

"Never mind. It's alright, Alf." I'd noticed the book on the table, behind the blonde, and I moved forwards to get it. Yet, before I could even touch the edges of the table, something had me writhing on the floor, the weight squarely on my back.

The best available solution seemed to be flailing my arms like a helpless damsel in distress. The pathetic swipes seemed to cause some effect, however, because after a groan and a shift in the weight, I was able to pick myself up to sit up, drawing my legs into my chest.

"The hell, man?" There was another groan, and I lifted my line of vision to see Gilbert slumped with his hands prodding his nose. "_Mein gott-_ I think you've bruised it or something..."

"You're all rather loud, you know. It's hard to embroider when I can't concentrate."

_Oh._

So _now '_mother hen' decides to make his appearance.

I looked around, from the dazed American to my right and the unfittingly bemused Ivan standing a few paces from where me and Gilbert were sat. I yanked myself up, using the table for support, and I surveyed the faces again. Whether I liked it or not, I'd have to think about this strategically.

"Oh, uhm, Ivan- I think..." My gaze filtered to the window. "... I think the snow just got heavier." The Russian blinked, his attention turned to the window outside, and after a small and understanding 'Да' he left the kitchen to return to the back garden.

The Prussian had stopped shuddering, yet this had been replaced by groaning and muttered complaints. "It was sort of your own fault, Gilbert." He crinkled his nose, in some sort of elaborate pantomime of disgust, and immediately winced in pain afterwards. "Triggered reflex. You don't like Russia and he doesn't like you so..." I coughed, stilling my words as the albino looked on at me, his eyes uninterested and disbelieving.

I turned around and shoved the manual into Arthur's arms, yet I'd spoken again before he could complain. "Just keep Ivan away from him, and keep him away from anything potentially dangerous."

"If you're being serious here-"

"Do you think I'd be joking about not wanting to confront a touchy-feely guy who just turned up in a wooden crate?"

He didn't have a reply for that. I sighed, moving past him and up the stairs, and when halfway up I sat down to reflect. Arthur bobbed his head into view, his foam-green eyes carrying glimmers of worry. I sighed, biting the sleeve of my jumper.

_I didn't want this. _

_I just wanted to be able to go to work, go to classes, and afterwards forget I had anything reminiscent of a family. _

_I didn't want to have to... Interact. _

"Are you alright?" I pressed my eyes shut for a long moment, and exhaling I turned to face the Briton, expression plain.

"A... cup of tea... might help..." He nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me to wallow on the stairs while I collected my bearings.

* * *

"Just give it him back, Ivan."

Said Russian ignored me, seemingly, thumbing through the little white notebook. "It says..." He squinted to read it better. "...That..." He squinted again, and I held a hand out, beckoning for the stolen notebook. After receiving it I flicked through a few entries, and I looked at the albino, dressed in an old t-shirt I'd always been too small for, as he helplessly watched on.

I snorted at the more recent entry, more so at the crudely-scrawled drawing of what I assumed was Ivan dotted in the corner, and looking up assertively at the Prussian I held it out for him to take. "Don't leave your stuff lying about. I've learnt that the hard way, and so have you."

"I doubt your experience was as un-awesome as mine." He sneered, holding his stolen notebook close to his chest. I sipped from my cup of tea, leaning against the dining-room chair I was sat cross-legged on. "I'll say 'embarrassing' and 'garments' and we'll leave it at that."

He looked instantaneously curious. I disregarded it, sipping from my cup of tea again. "When you say gar-"

"We'll leave it at that, Gilbert." I got up, mug in one hand and a few of my astronomy books under the other, planning to move to my bedroom for a quiet afternoon.

"But, I mean-" I'd barely made it to the stairs, and carefully making my way up I cut him off again.

"_We'll leave it at that,_ _Gilbert_." I could hear his footsteps dully make their way up the staircase as I neared my door. I struggled with the handle, and after getting the door open he made himself heard again. "Yeah, okay, I get you, but-" I hadn't needed to tell him to leave the topic alone this time. He surveyed my bedroom, from the rock posters blue-tacked to the wall to the more eerie and occult-like figures and objects I had cluttered on top of a dresser in the far corner of the room.

"I thought you were a little loopy but, whoa..." He took in his surroundings again, and I spun around, books and tea in hand, with a borderline-sour expression gracing my features.

"Gilbert, not to be rude, but,_ get the hell out of my room_."

"Yeah, but you haven't told me what you meant before."

"Gilbert, I'm warning you. I'm a..." I fumbled with my discorded thoughts, before trying to present them in a warily aggressive manner. "uhm, a... Karate instructor, in my free time... yeah..."

He looked completely sceptical, but, if I'm honest: I didn't blame him.

"Yeah? Well Arthur told me that the other week you-"

"Look, Gilbert, you've only been here a few days. It's unlikely Arthur has divulged every secret about the house to you, so I'd stay quiet and observe for a while, if I was in your shoes." He scoffed, waving a flippant hand at me, still picking up the odd detail in my room to frown at.

"I have my ways..." He looked dazed before stepping into my room. "Speaking of which, I still want to know what you meant."

I clutched my books tightly, ready to throw them if it was completely and absolutely necessary.

"Are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" There was a disturbing malice and tone of amusement to his voice.

I considered throwing my books at him then and there, wiping the grin off of his face, if only for a moment or two.

"What's that?" He held a cupped hand to his ear, his grin splitting. "The hard way? That's my favourite, too." He'd barely stepped forwards before I'd shoved past him and down the stairs, shouting 'Ivan' like it was the only word I knew.

Heck, I hoped I'd never face the day when it was Gilbert I was running to.


	7. Supermarket Sweep

**Went to edit this. Got close to the end. Stupid laptop mouse spazzed and I was all 'OMG NOES' and I hit my fist against my leg.**

**Oh, the things I do for you guys.**

**Like, writing crappy fic and killing my back because I don't like doing anything else. WHOOOO.**

* * *

"Dude, I can see the car park!" He was practically bubbling with delight, but, I guessed most of that would be the fact that we'd be out of the rain soon.

I still shrugged off his enthusiasm."Alfred, it's only a supermarket."

In the near-distance, through the mist and rain, the giant store stood; the car park upfront unnecessarily large, considering there were never many cars parked here. It had taken long enough, after an already lengthy walk in the downpour; I didn't own a car, and like hell I was going to risk these guys and public transport.

And, a select couple of them had also spent a good twenty minutes rifling through my room for normal clothes that would fit them. I didn't mind all that much- Okay, they were a little thinner than me, but I didn't want to be seen with people in military uniforms. They were bad enough as it was.

I sighed, stuffing my hands into my pockets as we neared the car park.

_Here's to making it out alive. _

I took out my earphones, shoving them into one of the pockets in my hoodie, and threw down the hood, feeling the drops of rain on my skin as I did so, and I shivered as we filed unceremoniously passed the parked cars. We came up to the doors, the trolleys and baskets piled and shoved together in a conglomerative mess. I'd barely picked up a basket and asked Arthur to do the same before Alfred noticed something clearly strenuously important and darted off into the shop. As he pushed past Arthur he caught the Briton off balance, and I reached out to help him find his feet.

"Specs, I'll find you whenever." The Prussian had the audacity to tap my ass as he strolled past and into the store. Ivan looked on, clearly amused.

"Ivan..?" I coughed, squirming slightly after the unwanted contact. The Russian spared me a glance. "Don't let him out of your sights." He nodded, and as the albino faded around the corner, Ivan continued after him, a slight spring in his step.

"Come on then, Art." I nudged him gently, and, after getting a basket, he gave me a small smile and continued into the shop with me.

* * *

"So," Arthur watched me, his eyes gentle, as I leaned in to get a loaf from the shelf. "Given that we have a little time, I think you should tell me about yourself."

I shot him an unhealthy, stern-faced look. "I beg your pardon?"

He shrugged, pointing to a jar of Marmite and placing it in his basket once I'd nodded approval. "You never tell us about yourself."

I scoffed, moving out of the way to let a woman pass with her trolley and two children. We continued past the next aisle, the both of us looking for the other three units probably running riot while I looked for the next thing we needed. "Fine." I huffed, leading him down the opposite aisle. "I dropped out of art school when my mother died. I never liked my dad. I barely passed high-school. I have a weak immune system-"

"Okay, okay, no need to be immature about it. You don't want to talk, I understand."

I sighed, taking a few packets of- wait, what _were_ these? I put them back, and I turned to see what I actually wanted. "Art, get me that pack of instant noodles, would you?" He nodded, his expression clearly showing that he was displeased at the product.

"Commercialised, flavourless, cheap. I don't see why you don't let one of us cook, or go take a course."

"I don't have the money."

He gave a small nod, sensing he was going to fall into dangerous territory if he continued on this topic, and after reaching the end of the shelves I bumped straight into a mess of leather and- oh, well _of course._ It _had_ to be Gilbert.

"Calm down, Gil. Seriously. You'll end up damaging something... someone..." I paused, before amending my words with "Both."

I dusted off myself as he caught his breath, the looming form of the Russian he'd clearly been running from wheeling round the aisle not even a minute after he'd stood up properly.

"Have you seen Alfred?" Both of them shook their heads, and I nodded remorsefully, continuing through the shop.

"Maybe I should go looking for him?" Arthur's words reached my ears a second or two after I'd seen the familiar bomber-jacket as the blonde reached around the sweets. "Alfred!" The American turned, his eyes dimly lit, and he paced over to us, his eyes falling on me with some sort of desperation.

"Can I have, uhm, some-"

"Watch the prices. I'm not made of money."

He all but skipped back to the sweets, returning back over to us moments later with less than an armful of sweets.

"That's not too much is it? I mean, money wise?" The American shook his head, and I trusted him wholly. "Just watch the cavities, okay?"

He nodded, and the five of us filed around the shop, grabbing odds and ends that hadn't been argued as unnecessary by anyone else. With my basket nearing full, and my thoughts immediately dashing to money worries, I decided that the trip was coming to an immediate end. I looked at them all, looking for any objections before I smiled. "Right; checkout."

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

God, that noise could of made anyone _neurotic_, let alone it being annoying.

The guy who was serving us looked around eighteen, with an acne-ridden, blemish-pocked face, and he looked like he'd rather be at home on his Xbox. He mumbled the total cost to me, something I couldn't catch, and he indicated to the electronic display in front of his till.

I gritted my teeth at the price. It wasn't too much, okay, but I didn't have buckets of the stuff to hand out.

I reached into my hoodie for my purse, and immediately stopped still. My hands, which had just about checked every pocket on my person, (jeans included) and I was even now going back to re-check. I looked at the group with knitted brows. I couldn't find my purse.

"Purse. Purse. Purse..." I padded myself down now, frantically repeating the same word, and I suddenly remembered that I had last seen it in my raincoat- Which Arthur was wearing. "Arthur..? Could you check in the inside pocket of your coat, please." He did so, and his hand came back into view with my purse tight in his hands. I felt relief flood back into my veins.

"Oh, thank God." I took it from him, thanking him, and after a quick transaction with my money and a soon discarded receipt, I picked up my bags (thankfully Arthur had taken the liberty of packing them with Alfred) and we all stumbled back out into the rain.

It took a fair struggle to get my hood up, and watching the group do the same I handed Ivan a couple of bags, seeing as Gilbert would most likely drop them to spite me, and we made our way back to my house.

The downpour was worse than it had been previously, the wind slicing past my face and the fog looming dangerously in front of us. Sure, winter was nice, but the snow was far more nicer than the sleet and the hail and the rain.

We'd been walking back for what seemed like ages, but, upon glancing, my watch had corrected me that it had only been ten minutes. I sighed as we came to the next set of traffic lights.I pressed the button, and the lights turned to green almost automatically, the road before us foggy and uncertain. We continued to walk, with us only having to stop our journey when Ivan had almost scared Gilbert into a busy road, and when Arthur had scolded Alfred for something he himself was actually unaware of doing.

With a sigh of relief, we came to my battered gate, and I fished my keys from my pocket, ramming them into the lock and kicking open both the front and middle door with my leg.

"Home."

I sighed, kicking my shoes off and pacing further into the hall to turn up the central heating. The others made their way in, stumbling to rid themselves of their sodden shoes and coats, and I put the bags of shopping I'd been holding on my kitchen table, Ivan placing the others next to them a short moment afterwards.

I took of my coat and hung it up on the coat pegs (of which I had more than were actually necessary), and I watched in mangled humour as they pulled faces at their soggy appearances. Everyone's eyes darted to the bathroom, and I shook my head as they advanced.

"Ladies first, guys!"

Gilbert snorted, the five of us all but racing the short distance to the door. "Lady?"

I pulled a face at him, tugging at the handle as I winced at the weight everyone was pushing into one-another. "Cut the sarcasm, Gil. Just because I'm more manly than you."

The door was slammed behind me in an instant, and I locked the door, smirking in my triumph. "Well, how d'you like them apples?" And, I could have sworn I'd never been more content in these past few weeks as I heard them groan and mumble complaints, but then the thought hit me.

_Was I becoming sadistic?_

I scoffed, peeling my t-shirt off and over my head, chuckling lightly.

Sadistic? Ha- Perish the thought.


	8. Educational Escapades

**HUZZAH. **

**JEEEZZZ.**

**Finally.**

**Hopefully these are all much better than they once were... I hope... Dream... Wish...**

**whatevs.**

* * *

"So, dude... Are they your _relatives_? Or like, _escorts_ or-"

"No, they're actually..-"

"Wait, wait- I bet they're more like-"

I folded my arms, glaring at the two of them, and the Asian girl nudged the red-head sitting next to her as to warn her. Robyn rolled her eyes, sticking her straw in her carton.

"But if they're _not _blow-up dolls, _which I totally bet they are, _what are they then?"

"Uhm... They're sort of like... lodgers, but not really. It wasn't exactly a mutual agreement." Fawn struggled with a packet, and she gave a bright smile as she managed to finally tear it open. Robyn jabbed a finger at the food, "Fawn... What the hell are those?" The Korean girl shrugged, breaking apart one of the round snacks, and she inspected it more closely.

"Uhm... They look like rice crackers to me..." She chewed noisily and kept her eyes trained on the table we were sat at. The redhead sighed, tugging on her t-shirt, and when it stuck she simply yanked harder and let her face contort with disgust as she observed it. "Man, it's super hot today..."

I nodded, keeping my face down in my astronomy book. Considering my iPod was broken, it was all I had to occupy myself. "Uh... Yeah... Yeah, it is."

Robyn narrowed her eyes at me. "What's up with you?" I shrugged and she mimicked the motion as a response, "Hey, you just looked a little worried about something... That's all." I gave her a smile and pushed my glasses up my nose, shaking my head at her query. I'd left them all with instructions and warnings, although I'd felt like an idiot, wagging my finger at them, like they were kids.

Fawn waved a hand in front of my face; obviously I'd zoned out and missed something she'd said. She held up a cracker for me. "Want some?" I nodded, muttering a small 'thanks' under my breath and trying to smooth out a crick in my neck while Robyn took another drink from her carton.

"So... What do they look like?"

I held up a single finger, as to say, 'hang on a second, I'm chewing' and she seemed to understand. I swallowed thickly and began to explain, "Well... There's Iggy, who's British, blonde and has these crazy thick eyebrows," Both girls opposite me nodded, although they seemed to be concentrating on a spot behind me, but I continued nonetheless. "And there's Alfred. He's American, blonde, and a little bit taller than the Brit." They nodded again.

I choked back a sarcastic comment about their behaviour, and I continued again. "And then there's Ivan, he's Russian, and he's the tallest one. He wears his scarf around all the time, as if it's keeping him alive or something..." Both Fawn and Robyn nodded, and the redhead broke a wry smile.

"Say, is one of them an albino?"

"Well, yeah. Gil's albino, and he's the most self-centred, cocky guy I've ever m-" It suddenly dawned on me what was going on. I lifted my head slowly, and I turned to face the direction both of them had been gazing off into.

_You have __**got **__to be kidding me. _

There was a pause. All four of them had been walking across the campus grounds towards our table, and with a sudden jolt of anger I noticed that, aside from the clothes I'd ordered for them online (as I wasn't about to risk another shopping escapade like the one that had occurred two weeks ago), they had decided that they'd each steal an article of clothing from my room. They looked at one another, Arthur whispering something, and Alfred laughed loudly enough for it to grate on my eardrums.

"Hey!" I sank into my seat as far as I could, and while grumbling to myself the Korean and Briton both stared on at the approaching figures.

"Look this isn't my fault, Enya. It's just- There was a..." The Briton stilled his words, realising they weren't helping him in any way, shape or form. I was about to spin around and tell them to kindly get themselves back home, before they offended or caused damage to someone, when I was grappled into a 'hug'.

"Specs!" I stuck to mumbling furtively under my breath, rather angry that the nickname he'd coined for me had stuck, and I tried to look my two friends in the eye as they stared on at the four newcomers to our table. "Why aren't you lot at home?" Alfred immediately ignored my question and sat next to me, eyeing Robyn's lunch.

"Are you going to eat that?" The redhead babbled incoherently and eventually managed to shake her head, pushing her unwrapped yet untouched hamburger towards the American.

_Oh, joy. _

_She's all doey-eyed. _

I tried to keep Gilbert away from myself, while smirking at the redhead. "Don't get all lovestruck and sappy, Rob. It'll all end in tears..." She shook herself out of her trance.

"Dude! I'm totally _not_ falling for him! I gave him my burger, that's all." Fawn shared a knowing smirk with me, and I had hardly realised that Gilbert had retracted his arms and instead leant himself across the table, to my left, with his elbows on the table.

"Come on, guys. Why on earth aren't back home?"

Arthur coughed, fiddling with his thumbs. "Well... Yes... About that-"

"Yo! You got a reverse harem going on here or something?" I sighed and let my features contort with annoyance. The Bermudian boy who had shouted at us jogged over, and Juan looked at me with suspicion. "You gonna answer my question or not?"

"No, I'm not. Happy now?" He folded his arms and looked disapprovingly at Gilbert.

"This one your boyfriend or something?" In an instant me and Gilbert had seperated so far from each other it wasn't even funny. I shook my head, "Are you kidding me?"

He looked uncertain, and he raised a challenging eyebrow at me. Fawn noticed his attitude, and she turned in her seat while running her fingers through her fringe, as to remove her hair from her sweat-beaded forehead. I noticed the unsteady gleam in his eyes, and I tried to push it further. "Why are you so interested?"

He shrugged, eyes trained somewhere else than at the table, and then he turned back to us. "No reason." He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode off again. Fawn had the same knowing look on her face, but this time she shared it with Robyn. Both of them smiled at me.

"What?" They both shared looks again, then glancing to the retreating figure of the Bermudian.

"-That you totally,"

"-And he totally," I folded my arms, shaking my head.

"In English, please?" Both of them haplessly fell into a fit of giggles, and they both smiled at me once they'd gotten over it. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it." Robyn flicked a dismissive hand at me, then frowning gently. "It's a little bit of a shame, though..."

"_I thought I told you not to mention it_."

I took my messenger bag from where I'd left it, and after slinging it over my shoulder I turned to face the group. "So, if you'd please start explaining?"

"Well," Arthur began, but before he could continue Alfred had interjected as loudly as he could.

"One, you have no food,"

I folded my arms and nodded, biting my lip as I waited for more complaints. "Well? Anything else?"

"Uhm, well, your air-conditioning's gone haywire and-"

"Which one of you messed with the controls?" There was a frenzy of arms as they all pointed at each other, and I sighed again. "Great. Could this day get any better?"

"Oh, yeah, and some woman called Àida called."

I nodded simply, and adding more things to my to-do list, I barely noticed when Fawn prodded my arm, having pulled her arms out across the table as far as she could just to reach. I turned to face her, a silent raised brow questioning her as she smiled up at me.

"You have any more classes today?"

"Nah, you got forensic study?" The Korean nodded at me, and the redhead sighed, swirling the straw in her carton absently. "I've got a lecture soon, so, I guess we'll be seeing you." I nodded, and holding my bag more tightly over my shoulder, I tried to brace myself for the horrors that awaited me.

* * *

"Do you guys have the manual?" There was a scramble, and sighing I leant against the wall, watching the large crate with mingled worry and curiosity. I blankly groped around the counter behind my back and smiled when metal pressed against my hands.

Picking them up and shaking the sides loose, I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. My arms went back to being folded as I waited for the manual to be found.

I just hoped that it wouldn't be anyone with the potential to be more dangerous than Ivan.

_Knowing my luck, probably not. Wait, scratch that- **Definitely** not._


	9. An Epilogue Of Sorts

**Actually editing this before chapter eight, 'cause my fanfic account just went screwy on me. HUZZAH. woo.**

**Much happier with this story now, even though there are only hints of plot, aha. I don't even care. As long as there's no sue and things happen for a good enough reason, it's cool with me. **

**Hoping here that any readers prefer this version, too. And if you don't? TOUGH. **

**I'm glad to be out of my derpy, fangirl, weaboo, simpering-teenage-girl syndrome. It's behind me and thankfully all of my previous fanfics are done and dusted, hiding any of my stupid mistakes. Okay, anyway. Long A/N is long.**

* * *

The alarm clock screeched in my ears, and I slammed my hand down until I hit the snooze button. Grumbling and ruffling my hair I slipped on the pair of rabbit-slippers I'd been bought for my birthday, which had been a few days ago, and I stumbled across the landing to check on the room next to mine.

A quick look inside showed that the two inhabitants of the room were fast asleep, and I closed the door behind me as quietly as possible.

I turned around and began down the stairs, my legs weighing me down and my arms just as bad, and after a scan of the living room I managed to drag myself into the kitchen to flick on the kettle. There was a low rumble, and I pulled on the blind-cord, squinting as the sunlight streamed in.

"What's for breakfast?"

I turned, and I gazed lazily at the albino. "Whatever Feliciano decides to make, but I'm hoping for pancakes again."

Gilbert nodded, and I turned to brew my coffee in my souvenir mug that Fawn had managed to nab for me after a recent case she'd helped out with over in America. I smiled at the bright letters on the coffee-stained mug and was about to ask whether the Italian was up or not when a bright and cheery shout of "Salve!" came from the top of the stairs. The chirpy Italian, (who had been the last edition to our 'family' almost three years ago, not long after the university escapade) bounded down the stairs two at a time, and I envied the fact that he could be so bright and cheerful this early in the morning.

"Is Ivan back yet?" I asked, side-stepping the Italian with my mug in my hand to let him access the kitchen counter-tops, and Gilbert shook his head.

By "back yet" I was inquiring whether he'd returned from his night shift, and the moment that I asked he came waltzing in through the front door. He took off his hat and coat in the hallway, including his shoes, and he came into the dining room. "Morning," he managed, and I noticed that he hadn't bothered to remove his scarf, although that was the least of my daily worries.

"Speak of the devil." I murmured quietly, and the peaceful aura was shattered by a cry from upstairs. There was a chorus of shouts, and I gently sipped at my coffee as the two blondes stumbled downstairs. "No, I _didn't_ mean to do it. _I just did, okay?_ And why are you getting so worked up about it, Artie?" The Briton huffed, taking a seat at the table, and I quickly tried to think of a way to resolve the tension, if only temporarily.

"Hey, Alfred, why don't you go get the paper from outside?" He looked ready to argue with me, and I raised an eyebrow, pointing a finger at the front door. He realised what I was getting at and he all but sprinted off to get the paper.

There was a sizzle from behind me, and the small Italian (who was currently helping us keep the mortgage paid by working in restaurant not too far from the house) began to make our breakfast.

Alfred came back into the house, throwing the paper at the grouchy Briton still at the table, and he looked at me with a slightly cautious look.

"Uh, there's some girl at the door asking to come in..."

"And..?" He rubbed the back of his head, and he looked at the door with the same air of cautiousness.

"I told her I'd ask whether or not you'd let her in..."

"I'll go and see who it is then," I started to cross the room, and as I passed the blonde I placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering into his ear, "_I don't particularly want to know what you did to annoy Arthur, but I think an apology is in order, don't you?_"

He nodded, and I traipsed across the hallway in my bunny-slippers, opening the door and facing a large grin as I was pulled into a hug.

"It's been ages! Oh my God I've missed you!" I choked and pushed the woman off of me, and I only noticed who it was when I stepped back.

"Long time no see," I smiled at the redhead, and she gazed past me and into the house.

"Nice place," she said with a slight pout, "Took me forever to find it. Why didn't you tell me you'd changed address?"

"Well, I've been busy, since uni, and you didn't exactly try to contact me either, did you Robyn?"

She shuffled uncomfortably and she looked back down the hallway again. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was hinting at. "Sure, sure, come in."

She shut the door behind herself and followed me into the dining room. She kept turning around, examining every inch of the new house, and she looked back at me with a glint in her eyes. "Man alive, how the hell did you manage to get this place?" I gave her a shrug and sipped from my coffee, which I was surprised I hadn't set down already. "We all just strung together and saved everything up."

She nodded, and she looked at the Italian still cooking breakfast with intent. I rolled my eyes at her.

"You can stay for breakfast, nothing more than that."

The sudden jump for a seat and eager expression made me suddenly regret extending an invitation to her at all.

* * *

"So," After taking another sip from her cup she set it down and cupped her face, elbow on the armrest of her chair, "You're a literature professor now?"

I nodded, and there was a jingle of keys from behind me. I turned to see Arthur throwing on his coat, and he gave me a wave as he set off for work. "And what about you?"

She beamed and held a thumb to her chest.

"The only psychologist in town who'll guarantee that your chill-level will be higher than your fee when I've finished with you!"

I smirked at her, absently swirling my coffee with a finger. "Is 'chill-level' even a real word..? Or value, for that matter..."

She folded her arms, checked the time on her wristwatch, and she got up, extending a hand to me. "Well, I've gotta dash... It was nice to see you again. Don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"Sure." I smiled at her, and after shaking my hand she pulled me into another hug.

"I can make my own way out, don't worry."

She smiled, and giving Alfred the same flirtatious smile she had been shooting at him for the past couple of hours she strode down the hallway and out of the door. A relieved sigh slid past my lips, and I relaxed far into the confines of the sofa I was sat at. "So, care to explain what the hell you did to piss off Arthur earlier?" The American fidgeted, and I found my eyes widening with revelation, my lips curling into a smirk.

"W-Well..."

"_Well? _Come on... You can tell me..." He bit his lip, fingers fumbling with the edges of his t-shirt, and he looked back at me.

"You won't tell anyone?"

"Not a soul."

His eyes darted from the door to me, and back again. He took a pillow into his arms, and looking me in the eyes for a split second, he then buried his face in it as he spoke.

"Say what?"

He sank into his chair, smothering himself hopelessly in the pillow. "_Please_ don't make me repeat myself."

I brought my coffee to my lips, and noticing that it was rather cold I picked myself up from the couch and started to make my way into the kitchen. "If you feel up to it, there's a horror marathon on TV later." I smiled at him, although I knew he couldn't see it, and I found my way into the kitchen and to the sink, shaking the water-droplets from the mug once I'd rinsed it.

I folded my arms, surveying the room before me, and I smiled in spite of my first reactions to the lot of them.

Sure, it had been hard to begin with, but I'd done my best to keep myself sane, and I'd ended up finding they were actually part of a sort of makeshift family I had been able to construct for myself. I looked to the wall, where the picture of my mother that used to be blue-tacked to the kitchen wall in my old house was now sitting comfortably in a frame, and I let my smile grow that little bit wider. I'd been without a real family since I'd been a teenager, and I'd gotten on just fine without one... But... These units... They'd shown me what it was like to have a family again, and I guess I couldn't help but be a _little_ bit grateful for that (if nothing else).

Veneziano came bounding down the stairs, a smile on his face as always, and he gazed up at me. "Gilbert was shouting about something upstairs, and Ivan got involved... Veh, I'm lucky I got out there alive!" I let a small smile tug at my lips, despite the news, as I began to climb the steps to sort out whatever the hell was going on up there.

Yes, we were all utterly hopeless when it came to terms, but every family had a black sheep or two, didn't they?

I found that I instantly dead-panned at the thought.

_In this family I could never tell if we were all the black sheep, or if the title passed from person to person on a daily basis._


End file.
